"He is... handsome," a woman said. She was a diplomat. From the Free Cities. Her voice was low. The voice of a woman who is trying not to be heard. "Look at his face. His jaw. His eyes. The violet. I have never seen..."
"Stop," her companion hissed. "He is— look at the empress. She is facing him. She is— she is accusing him."
The Empress waited.
Her sea-green eyes on his violet ones. Her body — hovering, suspended, the mana radiating — was still. The dress — silk, steel, scales — was still. Her hair — silver-blue, flowing — was still. She was waiting for an answer.
Raven looked at her.
His violet eyes held hers. His smirk did not fade. His feet stayed on the table. His hands stayed in his pockets. His posture did not change.
"I just wanted to fertilize your egg," he said.
His voice was conversational. Loud enough for the room to hear. The words — the blunt, crude, unfiltered words — echoed.
The room gasped.
